


make yesterday slow (better face reality)

by batterytriplicate



Category: Maximum Ride - James Patterson
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Musical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batterytriplicate/pseuds/batterytriplicate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bumps into her without so much as an apologetic smile in her direction. </p><p>(at least, until she raises a din about it. which she does. if there is something maximum ride can be counted on for, in any universe, it is to raise a din.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	make yesterday slow (better face reality)

 

He bumps into her without so much as an apologetic smile in her direction. 

(at least, until she raises a din about it. which she does. if there is something maximum ride can be counted on for, in any universe, it is to raise a din.)

 "Hey!" Max snaps at the leather-clad, dark-haired,  _stupidly-not-watching-where-he’s-going_  stranger.

He stops. Turns. And oh dear _God_  he’s… well. From the way that the other girls (and a few of the boys) are looking at him in the hallway, it’s a pretty clear indicator of how….  _well_ … he is. (maximum ride has never let pretty boys (or girls) distract her from something and now is not the time to start.)

“Watch where you’re walking, Danny Zuko,” Max snarks, and his expression doesn’t change at all. Well, it does, a little. He rolls his eyes and walks away. Max scowls after his back, and strides off to English.

(of course that isn’t the last she sees of him. of course it isn’t.)

Because the future cast for Thoroughly Modern Millie is crowded into the music room after school, boys and girls anxiously clutching their prepared monologues and sheet music, and Max is busy helping Nudge run lines quietly as people filter throughout auditions to notice Mr. Lazarra (also the librarian, and incredibly cool) call out, “Um… Fang? Is there a, uh, Fang here?”

And who should stand up but Danny Zuko. He gives a lazy smile, and an even lazier wave. 

Nudge decides that’s the perfect time to watch, and Fang (who’s named fang? _nobody_ , that’s who. nobody.) casually delivers a dumb (and phenomenal) monologue from the war of the worlds, and it’s enough to cause the usually talkative theater kids to finally notice who’s onstage. A whisper spreads throughout them, and finally Fang (that _cannot_ be his actual name) settles at the piano.

He sings a mashup between Stars from Les Miserables and Wait for It from Hamilton.

(damn him, it’s amazing. it’s spectacular. it’s the best high school singing she’s heard in years, not since she’d been a little kid and watching from backstage and everything seemed amazing, all washed in the bright lights and swirly skirts and pretty makeup.) 

A subtle bit of clapping works its way through the gaggle of theater kids, and Nudge whispers something in her ear. She doesn’t listen. (nudge is called up next so she doesn’t have to acknowledge that this is probably their jimmy smith.)

Max (with the _r_ last name) is called amongst the last, and she ascends the stage, settling her shoulders, and closes her eyes. takes in a deep breath. and opens her eyes. (“killing you” is her monologue. she hears some people gasp, she sees mr. lazarra’s swiftly smothered smile as he writes something on the clipboard. she knows she’s nailing it. _killing_ it, even. ha.) 

She sings “I Want to Go to Hollywood” mainly because it sounds the most like Millie’s flair, and also because Sutton Foster had also sung it. As in, Millie. (it works out.) Mr. Lazarra thanks her and smiles and she steps down in enough time for someone else to step up, and she sits back down next to Nudge.

They get the cast list a week later. Max gets Millie.  Nudge gets Muzzy van Hossmere (unexpected, but a welcome announcement all the same.) Her sister Maya lands Miss Dorothy and Gazzy and Iggy get Bun Foo and Ching Ho. (gazzy and angel tease them both about the kiss. they both refuse to comment.)

A new student named Dylan gets Mr. Graydon, and Angel is content with her role as student choreographer. As it happens, a girl in Max’s grade named Lissa gets Mrs. Meers. 

Supposedly-Named-Fang gets Jimmy Smith.

(max refuses to comment.)

—

Bizarrely, Fang and Nudge become friends first. (yeah. max doesn’t get it either.) But between scenes, Fang and Nudge are the ones laughing together, re-running lines, Nudge babbling his ear off and he never talks. (they’re a good match, iggy tells her. max doesn’t particularly care. (yes, she does. she’s jealous at heart. nudge is _hers_.) but the point stands.) Maya joins in not long after.

Max and Maya have never been the stereotypically telepathic twin siblings. They actually kind of hated each other a lot as kids. (they’re better. (not really.) they’re getting there.) But Max doesn't understand this temporary loss of sanity from her sister, who just shrugs when Max scathingly asks what's so great about him.

But as soon as Max or Fang have to run lines together (kicked out into the hall while people learn and re-learn and clean and re-clean and re-re-clean choreography) and they scowl at each other the whole while. He’s said barely ten out-of-character words to her that aren’t rude. (if someone else was commenting on this, they’d say the same about max.)

According to most every cast and crew member, they have outstanding chemistry, when they act, when they sing. Their Millie and Jimmy get along incredibly well.

Max and Fang, however, get along more like Millie and Jimmy meet. A lot of arguing (max) scowling (fang) and storming off (both of them).

But they have a show to assemble. So Max learns and runs lines with him and does it all with minimal (a lot) of off-stage complaints, and Fang is… well, Fang. Completely inscrutable.

It is one day after Fang makes a snide comment about her dance moves when she rounds on him (for what feels like the thirtieth time this week (it’s tuesday) and it’s sure to rack up.) and demands “What is your problem with me?!”

Fang scowls at her. Max crosses her arms and waits for a reply.

Mr. Lazarra tells them to run Turned the Corner in the hall while he works with everyone on Only in New York.

Max storms out. Fang follows, and holds the door open for her, with a sardonically tilted eyebrow.

“Run it from the top, then?” Max suggests dully.

“You’re too bossy,” he says. For a moment, Max doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until she recalls her earlier question. He doesn’t stop there. (of course he doesn’t.)

“You’re a know it all, you burp like a trucker, you act like you’re everybody’s mom, you take on too much, and you’re hot for—Mr. Graydon.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t actually know his name,” Max says, kind of stunned at this point. Fang’s blank face says it all.

“His name is _Dylan_ , you ass. At least I learn everyone’s name.”

“So?” He challenges, lifting his eyebrows. “Denying it?”

(max won’t deny that she’s never had to fake millie’s fervent whisper of beautiful when she first meets mr. graydon, because that boy had eyes like the caribbean and a winning smile and was probably everything a girl wanted.)

“It’s not like you’re not just as hot for Lissa— _Mrs. Meers_ , if you’re still struggling with names.”

Fang grins licentiously, and Max furiously refuses to acknowledge the fire it starts in her stomach. “Nah. I’ve got hers down pat.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she groans, and then they have to pretend like they’re in love.

(pretend. right. max doesn’t have a crush on him. and if it was, it’s only in the terms that max will crush him at any attempt he uses to try to supersede her. it’s still pretending.

definitely.

absolutely.

_pretending_.

...isn’t it?)

—

Fang falls in with Iggy not long after Nudge and Maya, and that yanks along Gazzy, which yanks along Angel. Which leaves Max as the only member of their little family that isn’t mad for him. They’re trying on various costumes when they’re forced to talk again.

She’s wearing the red flapper dress that she’ll wear for the speakeasy scene and he’s wearing a twenties-style suit, the jacket off, leaving him in suspenders, the tie, and the shirt. A gangster-esque fedora with a bright band of red wound around it is discarded near his usual leather jacket.

(it’s an oddly good look for—no! no. she is _not_ doing this. no.)

His gaze runs up and down her, and he smirks briefly, tapping his red tie. Black shirt, of course. He probably has thirty different pairs of the same black shirt and black jeans, because Max hasn’t seen him wear anything else.

“We’ll match.”

“Ew.”

He makes a soft noise that Max thinks might be a laugh. “All right, you asked me. Now I have to ask you. What do you have against _me_?”

( _you’re stealing all my friends_ sounds too juvenile. she can’t exactly tell him _the sight of your face both infuriates me and makes me want to attack it, preferably with my lips and possibly probably my tongue_ , either.)

“You’re stuck up,” she says instead. “You’re smug and you don’t even hide it when you stare at Lissa’s ass in that ridiculous kimono. You act like you’re owed for the ground you walk on.”

He makes a vaguely noncommittal humming noise, before he takes a step forward (towards her. max totally does not feel the urge to take a step back.) She tilts up her chin, holding her ground. His eyes are somewhere along her collar bone. (probably lower.) He reaches forwards, and his breath smells fiercely minty and it’s warm against the hollow of her throat and his fingers are surprisingly cool as he reaches out—

He puts his hand on her (bare) shoulder and swipes his thumb along the v of her neckline, swiping softly. He held up his thumb, a sparkle visible.

“Make a wish,” he says, and his near-black eyes are inscrutable.

(i wish you were less obnoxious, i wish you would lean forward and kiss me with no strings attached and forget it the instant after you did it—)

“I wish I didn’t have such a pain-in-the-ass castmate,” she says instead. She huffs a breath, blowing it away, and he huffs a laugh and he leaves.

Max lets out a shaky breath before she follows.

—

They are practicing the scene after Muzzy’s penthouse, Millie just smothered Dorothy Parker with soy sauce. Jimmy is comforting her.

Fang is not doing nearly so well.

(she still refuses to believe his name is actually fang.)

“Be sympathetic, Fang,” Mr. Lazarra says, and Max mutters, “Good luck with that.”

Fang rolls his eyes at her, before they run them again, and they’re screaming Millie and Jimmy’s insults at each other (“jezebel!” “casanova!”) when it happens.

their first kiss. (millie and jimmy’s first kiss, she means! not max and fang’s. that would be absurd. right?)

It’s a stage kiss: just lips pressed against each other for an awkward amount of time that generates giggles amongst the others, and a wolf whistle (fuck you, iggy. just. fuck you.) and they burst apart. True to character, Fang runs away. Max pretends not to be affected.

( _acting_ , people. acting.)

She sings “Jimmy.” Fang steps out of Maya's room. Mr. Lazarra gives them a five minute break, and Fang wanders over. 

“How’d you start?”

“What?”

“Acting. Singing. You’re not really the sort to be onstage.”

“Neither are you,” she says. His face is like stone. It doesn’t change. It takes three minutes of their precious break before she sighs, at last. “My mom used to bring me along to shows, backstage and stuff, when I was little. She used to volunteer for work around here before her vet practice picked up pace. So. You?”

He hums lightly. “Something to do, I guess. I’m good at it.”

Max snorts. “There’s that humble personality we all love.”

He rolls his eyes at her, but says simply, “I like it, I suppose. I’m good at it. Do I have to have some other reason?”

“Guess not.”

“Hey, Max?”

It’s Dylan, aka Graydon, aka Caribbean eyes. “Um, Mr. Lazarra wants us to run Speed Test next.” He gives her a warm smile. He’s easy to talk to. (unlike mr. prickly-in-black.) Everything a girl could ask for. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, and leaves Fang without looking back.

(she feels fang’s eyes on her the whole time anyway.)

—

Maya has the _brilliant_ idea of going out for a cast-and-crew dinner after practice on a Friday. Max would normally skip, but Maya had offered to wash the dishes for a week. 

(nobody could resist that sort of offer.)

They’re loud and raucous at a long table in a private room at a cheap restaurant, and Max orders a burger and fries. (if she has to do this, she isn’t going to be eating glorified leaves.) Nudge is sandwiched between Iggy and Angel, Gazzy and Maya and Fang across the table: Fang to Max’s right, Iggy to her left, and Max at the head of the table. 

“Why are we doing this?” She hears Iggy mutter to Fang in a low voice.

“You’re whipped, dude,” Fang says, which is—interesting information Max will file away for later. (iggy and maya are oddly adorable as ching ho and dorothy, maya (oddly) disney-princess-esque in a pink dress and iggy rocking hilarious facial expressions the whole time.)

“After this, we should go over to my house!” Nudge chirps, and gives Max and Fang a particularly threatening look. “Just us six.”

“Fine,” Max mutters.

“Sure,” Fang says, and stalks out of the room. Nudge looks slightly injured.

“I’ll find him,” Max says, and stands, ditching their room, going out of the restaurant, possibly to stage a rescue operation. Mom would get it.

Except she found Fang.

With his hand up Lissa’s shirt and that is _definitely not_ the family-friendly sort of kiss they’d been rehearsing. Max’s mouth opens and closes for a second

(he was never hers, never never never, so why was her heart swiftly crumpling and dropping to her feet)

“Bill’s here,” Max said, voice loud and near-casual. Lissa separates from him first, head resting against the wall, and Fang smirks as he detangles his hand from— _oh my god is that Lissa’s bra?_ —and drawls, “We’ll be right in.”

Max rolls her eyes and goes back in. She hesitates just outside the room where the rest of the cast and crew wait, and detours to the ladies’ restroom instead.

Lissa wandered in, too, removing a tube of lipstick from her purse, leaning forwards and fixing her smudged makeup in the mirror.

“Oh, hey, Max,” she said lightly. “Sorry you had to interfere, but, you know—“ She shrugs and giggles (and max doesn’t, max _doesn’t_ know, and she doesn’t want to be enlightened)

“Yeah,” Max says lamely. “So—you two are—?”

Lissa shrugs. This aggravates Max.

“So I’m just gonna go in,” Max says. “Might leave, actually, there’s a killer calculus test Monday—“

Lissa gives her an odd look. “It’s Friday.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know me and calculus,” she mutters. “Later, Lissa. See you at rehearsal.”

(she is not curious about them. nope. not at all.)

—

“So, you and Lissa.”

It’s Monday, the calculus test was indeed killer, and they’re rehearsing onstage with makeup and props, a full run-through of the show. It’s two months before opening night, but Mr. Lazarra likes to do all the work early so they can coast into show week.

Fang gives her an odd look, before he smirks. “Yeah. Just a bit of fun.” 

Max rolls her eyes. “On the side of the restaurant?”

“Fun’s fun.” He shoves her (not-so) lightly. “That’s your cue.”

(it isn’t, but she rushes closer to the wings anyway, watching the dancers work their way through “thoroughly modern millie” before she shouts out “this is 1922!” and joins in the dancing.)

(she gets to trip fang.)

(it’s just as fun as it is every time.)

The show goes fairly well: Maya is appropriately naive and charming, Iggy’s hilarious, Nudge's phenomenal, Lissa (even max will admit (grudgingly) that the girl has comedic timing) is flawlessly pulling off every line.

They’re approaching The Scene. Millie and Jimmy’s kiss (not max and fang’s, never theirs) and they’re shouting at each other.

Fang drops a line.

Fang. Drops. A. Line.

It’s an important one, too; one of his cracks at Mr. Graydon that propels the whole fight. Max glares at him furiously, Mr. Lazarra has to hiss it from offstage, and the whole thing is off-kilter and Mr. Lazarra ends the act early and sends them out to rehearse the scene while they run through Lissa’s song.

Max storms out. “It’s not like we’ve been running these lines for months or anything,” she says angrily, the fringe of her (blue, not the red one) flapper dress swirling as she did. This one has a less daring neckline, but it’s shorter and it hugs her hips, the feather in her hair askew.

“Well, sorry, Little Miss Perfect,” he snaps right back. “It’s not like you nearly stepped on my toes during the speakeasy scene—“

“Oh, _puh_ -lease, who was it that tripped over his own feet to get a hug from Angel—“ Max fires back, and she’s barely noticed they’re nearly nose-to-nose (like millie and jimmy, a voice whispers in her head, but she doesn’t acknowledge it in favor of rage) “—and you dropped a line! Don’t change the subject!”

“Oh, that’s what you’re so mad about?! Coulda fooled me!”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“Well, it’s not like you’re pissed that you saw me with Lissa, or anything?” He says, with a fairly epic eyeroll. “Because you haven’t _actually_ tripped me in months, and the only thing _I_ can think of as an explanation,” he takes a step forwards and grins, and maybe he was going to say something else, but

Max cannot recall who pushes forwards first, but she does register that they are kissing, ferociously, all nipping teeth and savage tongues, his hands scrabbling at her hair costume skirt and hers at his back hair hips and they were both grabbing each other

(and his hands were on her ass and she was being picked up and against the wall and her head is far above his and he’s practically on his tippy toes to kiss her and her dress is riding up as she wraps her legs around his waist and she’s scrabbling at his tie and he’s scrabbling with the straps of this flapper dress and)

They finally have to break apart to breathe, and he is staring directly at her chest, the strap of the dress sliding and part of her (very unsexy) bra showing, but she doesn’t particularly care very much. She gracefully manages to get down to the ground, but his hands are still on her ass and hers are winding in his hair.

“Um,” she says.

(eloquent, max, really.)

“Yeah,” he gasps out.

(such an articulate pair.)

“We should probably,” Max says, and gestures to her face and (now-messed-up) hair.

“Right, right,” he says, and hesitates as Max goes to the door.

“No strings attached, right?” He says.

“Yeah,” Max says. “Of course.”

(it might be for him but her heart strings are all tangled and she convinces herself she’s getting too deep in with millie.)

(behind her, after she’s left, fang attempts to straighten his tie and says “well, shit.”)

—

It takes one more month (and twenty-three more clandestine meetings) for them to actually sit down and have a nice conversation. It’s at lunch at a weekend workday, and they’re sitting, Max-Fang-Iggy-Nudge-Gazzy-Angel, and they’re all laughing and Mr. Lazarra calls everyone back in and the other four exchange a slightly stunned look.

“What?” Max says. “We can be nice.”

(later that day, fang snickers into neck and mumbles “sure, we’re plenty _nice_ ” as he bites and nibbles and sucks at that sensitive spot at max’s pulse point.)

But now Fang just keeps his bland facial expression and just nods and sits on the sideline as Max-Millie flirts with Dylan-Graydon.

(she does not see fang’s spine stiffen as dylan gives her a slightly too-out-of-character look as max-millie jokes about tom sawyer.)

(she sees none of the spine-stiffenings, knuckle-whitenings, fist-clenchings, or jaw-tensings. the only time she really sees him is if he aggravates her or if he is kissing-biting-licking-sucking a line up-down her neck-cheek-stomach-leg—)

(she sees caribbean blue and easy smiles. she does not see near-black and stone faces.)

(he will selfishly take this piece of her that she will give him)

It takes seven more clandestine meetings and two more weeks, two weeks to show, when he sees Max laughing hard with Dylan over lunch. His stomach tightens.

(it is in the middle of speed test when dylan says “let’s do this the american way! take off your things and let’s have a taste” when he breaks character and takes out a cupcake and asks her out on a date and mr. lazarra isn’t in the room and max is smiling at dylan in a way she never ever smiles at fang)

(and he had been the one to say no strings but how is he supposed to let this happen when his heart strings are all tangled around her like he’s her marionette)

(fang has to really resist the urge to smash the cupcake when she puts it by her stuff (by dylan’s-lissa’s-iggy’s-fang’s)

(fang does not resist the urge to smash his fist into dylan’s face after rehearsal and in an alley behind school because he isn’t an animal who’s about to make a public scene of this)

(he wouldn’t have been able to meet max’s eyes anyway)

(and dylan tries to fight back but fang is full of pent up anger and he is scrappy and angry and hungry for more of max that she is so willingly giving to dylan)

(his knuckles are bloody when he stalks off to his car momentarily victorious)

(the sting is welcome and it makes him feel something other than jealous or lovesick and now he feels angry because she had been so sulky after lissa and now he was supposed to stand blandly-happily-easily by while dylan takes his—his—max out)

(dylan cannot tell anyone. he knows this. fang’ll get kicked out, surely, and the fact that he’s _jimmy fucking smith_ won’t change anything and nobody will give a damn until he sings)

(the one person he wants to give a damn doesn’t seem to be inclined to any time soon)

—

The cast party is when It happens. It’s just after dress rehearsal night and Max had been fuming as she’d actually really tripped him during his entrance, and her grip on his hand for their dancing scenes had been like a vice, and when they were supposed to be gazing lovingly into her eyes her eyes had turned to granite. They all go to Lissa’s parent’s (empty) house after and everyone is smacking Iggy-Maya-Nudge-Fang-Angel-Gazzy-Max on the back, Dylan off somewhere (good riddance) and Max finally rounds on Fang, beautiful brown eyes hard as flint.

“Good luck, dude,” Maya tells him. He grimaces at her back as she beats a hasty (smart) retreat.

She’s wearing a red button-down and dark jeans and gutterstomping combat boots. Her hair is tied back into a braid. She looks much more Max than she ever did dressed as Millie. (he will miss those flapper-style dresses for certain, but this is max, smart and tough and strong)

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

(this is one thing he appreciates about her: she is always direct when she doesn’t like someone. she is always direct with her problems. she is straightforward, it seems, in everything but  ~~ romantic ~~  physical involvements.)

He is silent.

(this is one thing that infuriates her about him: he is almost always silent. he walks softer than velvet, quieter than an isolation tank, and had taken a near-childish spiteful glee with scaring her. he is quiet in his words, in his facial expressions, in his entire life, he was quiet except for this wonderful voice he only displayed when he was sinking into someone’s else’s storied skin.)

She reaches up and pushes him and it is the first time she has had her hands on him since their last clandestine meeting. He catches her wrists and smirks as she lets out a little scream of frustration.

“Answer me!” She demands, and he snaps out, “Why the fuck do you think?” and a familiar stubborn set of her chin overcomes her face, eyes going bleak and stormy.

(they end up in a spare bedroom.)

(he is scrabbling at the buttons of her button-down and she is cursing at him as she claws maliciously down his back)

(he pulls out a condom and she mocks him but she says yes and that is what matters to him, and it is furious and angry and fierce in a way that is amazing and she yanks on her button-down and pulls her hair back into a ponytail and storms out after all of it)

(he is thinking _well shit_ again: he is staring at the door and unable to really move for the weight of the _did that really just happen?_ that had overcome him)

The next night is opening show and the crowd is so full that students are sitting on steps. The crew charges around backstage wild-eyed and eager and bright and energetic, the actors bright with the momentary glory of it all, and Max is resplendent through it all, in her glimmering flapper dresses and the short-cropped flapper wig and the occasional smart work piece for the bits in Graydon’s office.

They are bright-eyed as they duck behind the curtain, and Max surges forwards, and stops after the briefest moment, a breath away from his mouth, his hand strong holding hers from bows.

“I love you,” he says, and maybe it is the heat of the moment but those _well shit_ moments have culminated up into this, not a sudden revelation, just a quiet _oh, there you are, that’s you_ sort of moment.

(because even if it had been angry the night before, it was some pretty spectacular sex. and it was also the sex that made him realize it was never just about having sex with her, of finally just getting it over with and moving on to the next girl.)

(because he does not just appreciate one thing about her, he appreciates a lot of things, even things that had once infuriated him)

She goes slack-jawed and blinks at him and he smugly thinks it is the first time he has seen her speechless. Her eyes go big and staring and her hand goes stiff in his.

“Seriously,” he adds, answering her unasked question. “As much as you infuriate me. I really think I do.”

“Oh.” She says, fumbles it. And then, get this: she runs. He stares after her.

A hand lands sharp and heavy on his shoulder. Maya’s staring after her sister too.

“You really coulda done that better.”

When he finally makes it out to the lobby Max is surrounded by cast members and her family, her mother a proud quiet stance at her daughters’ sides as her younger sister flutters around them, energetic and small and bright as a hummingbird.

It takes them until the Sunday matinee, the last show, after their mics have been taken off, and they are both quietly organizing their costumes for storage when she suddenly grabs him by his (red) tie and drags him down, her mouth more familiar to him than any six-month-stay in the quick unwelcome homes he had.

(the kiss felt like _finally_.)

(the kiss felt like _I love you too_.)

He makes a joke about finding an empty closet for some make-up sex after a while until she says “Slow down there, tiger, don’t want my second time to be in a closet, give a girl some time to catch up.”

He stares at her slack-jawed. 

(isn’t it supposed to hurt for girls? he had taken her first time with angry bruising hands and he couldn’t ever give it back. he voices something of this sentiment to her.

(she smacks him on the shoulder for it and says “idiot, i gave it to you.”)

but it had been angry and she hadn’t even—)

( _idiot, i gave it to you. it isn’t something you take. it’s mine. i said yes._ )

 It wasn’t until they had lost track of the clandestine meetings and he had taken her out for ice-cream and lukewarm cokes at three in the morning, her eyes bleary, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt and her hair up and messy. She looked completely godawful.

(he loved her anyway. no. not anyway. especially. people are not ever only made of smooth clean lines, of sharp flattering angles, of perfection. people are made of flaws too. infuriating ones. superficial ones. petty ones. learn to love around them, learn to love into the cracks and crevices of them.)

“I love you too,” she said suddenly, and licked a clean line of vanilla off her cone, took a swig of lukewarm coke, burped like a trucker.

(he kissed her. she burped in his face and he nearly shoved her out of the car, but she was laughing too hard with the giddy confession of it.) 

It felt as home to her as memories of a stage (any stage) washed in bright lights and and swirly skirts and pretty makeup.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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